


Head Over Cleats

by erimeri (blujoonie), loveandwarandmagick



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fem SnowBaz, Femslash, Football | Soccer, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Secret Crush, Slow Build, Sports, Unresolved Romantic Tension, fluff and a wee bit of angst, lotsa girls, minimal research of said sports, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blujoonie/pseuds/erimeri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick
Summary: Simon's tired of losing football matches and Baz is tired of having a useless crush. The best thing Simon can think of to solve her problem is to ask Baz for training help, never mind that they're on different teams. Baz isn't sure whether this will fix her problem or make it worse.Either way, they're both in it now, and neither of them is backing down until championships. Only one team can win, but maybe they'll both come out winners.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





	Head Over Cleats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkling_spark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling_spark/gifts).



> i'm going to start off by saying writing this fic was an absolute _blast_! thank you so much to the commissioner for donating!  
> their prompt was simply 'fem!snowbaz' so me and dani took advantage of it and wrote this massive gay mess and honestly? it's the most fun i've had writing a fic lol. i've made a playlist for this as well, if you're interested in it (or info about the blm commissions) they're at the notes at the end!  
> -meri
> 
> hi hello y'all, this fic was really super fun to write with meri _(ty to her for being the simon to my baz)_  
>  thank you to the commissioner for donating, to sam for drawing the beautiful art to go with it, and of course all y'all that are going to read it <3  
> \- dani

**_SIMON_ **

They lost.

The wind sways through Simon’s wayward curls, mud feeling oddly cold against her skin. Sweat drips down from her neck to her collarbone and she swipes it away with the back of her hand.

She can’t believe it. She doesn’t even need to look up to know they’ve lost yet - _she really, really can’t believe it._

The air is dense with Simon’s embarrassment, and the feeling of losing against Baz is drowning out everything else she’s feeling. 

Baz’s eyes are burning holes into her back from where Simon’s kneeling. Simon can feel her smirk growing by the second. Baz’s teammates' cheers are muffled and the only sound Simon can hear is the sound of the referee’s whistle on repeat. 

She needs to snap out of this. _You look like a toddler crying over a broken toy_ , her brain supplies helpfully, and she swats it away. _Just a broken toy, her arse._ To Simon, losing a match is _fine_ . They’ll do better next time. She _knows_ they’ll do better next time and she always makes sure of it.

But losing a match against Baz? For the second time? It’s _much_ more than _just_ a broken toy.

Reluctantly, Simon raises her head to glance at the scoreboard. Her eyesight’s blurry, so she rubs her eyes with her hands, making it even worse considering her hands were drenched in mud. She wipes them down with her jersey and stares at the score incredulously. 

_Watford East against Watford North._

_6-9_.

Fuck.

Simon’s nostrils flare, fingers digging into the dirt of the pitch, effectively ripping out a few blades of grass. She dusts off her hands and wipes them against her shorts, standing and stretching out her arms.

They’d been preparing for weeks. 

Countless training sessions after school, during the weekends, skipping out on lunch just so she could see the permanent smirk of Baz’s face vanish for just a few minutes. Simon knows that just because they lost doesn’t mean that all her hard work is null. It’s quite the opposite, and she knows, she _knows_ , but it doesn’t make her feel any better.

Simon knows her team won’t take their loss lightly, but won’t take it as seriously as Simon. According to them, “ _Baz isn’t out for us, she’s playing fairly.”_ She can’t accept that as an answer, though.

_How do I win? How can I win?_

Simon thinks she sounds a little too desperate in her mind, but at least she didn’t say it out loud.

“Simon!” Agatha shouts at her. She and Niel are busy handing out water bottles.

Simon stifles a weak smile when she sees Niel accidentally drop the water all over the front of her jersey, jumping from foot to foot while she pulls the soaked shirt away from her chest to keep her skin mostly dry.

“Oi! Niel, what’re you doing?” One of their teammates tosses Niel a towel and shoves her into the changing room. The rest of their team follows suit until it’s only Agatha and Simon on the field - and Baz’s team, (but they’re on the other side, so it doesn’t really count.)

Simon jogs to where Agatha’s at, and Agatha tosses a bottle her way when she gets close enough. 

“Thanks.” 

Agatha shrugs in response and runs a hand through her hair. “What’s up with you?”

Simon narrows her eyes and nudges her with a shoulder. “What do you mean?” 

“On the field? Baz? The ball? Simon, it was like you forgot how to play football as soon as you set your eyes on her.”

“Her?”

“Is that the only thing you got out of what I said?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Christ, what am I going to do with this team?”

Even though Simon is officially team captain, Agatha does a lot of the work Simon struggles to do. Raising their teams spirits after a particularly bad game, getting them off their arses so they can practice, all the things that require the charisma Simon lacks but Agatha radiates. 

“Her? Baz?” 

“Yes, I mean, look at the score, Simon. We’ve _never_ lost this bad to them. Three whole points behind? What are we, amatuers?” 

“Yes? Our school isn’t even- even _elite_ , fuck, we’re just barely making it to championships-” 

Agatha screws the cap of her water bottle on and tosses it into the trash can. “That’s not my point. What I’m saying is that one look at that posh bastard makes you a stumbling mess on the pitch. As your friend, and teammate, I desperately need you to get your shit together. Either you ask her for help and fix whatever’s happening between the two of you, or, you know,” she gestures wildly towards the field, “don’t look at her. But the first option is more realistic considering you can’t keep your eyes off her.”

Simon furrows her eyebrows and pouts at Agatha, trudging towards the doors of the changing room with her following closely behind. She stops moving to say, “It’s not _that_ bad. And it’s not my fault! Have you seen her? Have you?-”

Agatha sighs and places her hands on Simon’s shoulders, pushing her lightly so she can resume walking. “Yes, I have. And yes, it _is_ that bad. Just take some of my advice for once. It’d do you some good, you walking disaster.”

“We lost. But it wasn’t my fault.” 

“We lost, yes. But it’s not anybody’s fault, Simon. If we lose we’re probably _supposed_ to lose.”

Simon gives her a questioning look and Agatha sighs in exhaustion. “Nothing is going to get through to you. Not right now.” It sounds more like Agatha means it for herself, rather than Simon.

**~*~**

Simon rushes her shower in order to catch Penny before her team leaves for their school. Shoving on a shirt (knowing her, it’s probably backwards) and a pair of joggers, she launches herself out of the changing rooms, through the corridors and out the main entrance. As soon as Penny is within her vision she tackles her, effectively toppling them onto the floor.

“Si _mon_ ,” she groans, trying to pull herself off the ground. “Simon, what is it now?”

Simon pushes herself off the ground and dusts off her hands and elbows, a devilish grin set upon her lips.

Penny furrows her eyebrows and clicks her tongue, groaning in annoyance. “Don’t you dare give me that look.”

“ _Penny,_ ” she says, pitching her voice higher at the end. “Oh, Penny dearest, could you help me out? Will you help out one of your dearest friend with an important-”

“That _accent_ you’re trying out there will not help you out. And I can’t.” She waggles her eyebrows, not even the slightest bit apologetic. “Team is going out to get a treat. I swear I’ll save you some!”

Penny, being maddeningly fast as a defensive midfielder, dashes out from under Simon’s grasp faster than Simon can catch up. 

_Does this mean Simon will have to ask Baz for help?_ She nearly gags just thinking about it, emotions swirling complicatedly. Should she be wanting her help? 

_She’ll get to see Baz_ up close _, isn’t that what she wants?_

But then again, attempting to gain lessons from the best player from their rival school? Not really the best idea. 

Watford North’s bus leaves soon after Penny gets on and Simon stares at the bright yellow monstrosity until it fades out of sight.

And that’s when Simon begins plotting. They don’t have a game anytime soon. Just practice and exams and, well, more practice, she assumes.

Agatha’s words swirl around the abyss of Simon’s head, content staying in the area where she will possibly never remember them. She’s tired, though. A ninety minute game, and the fact that she woke up at dawn aren’t helping her through this at all.

She sends a quick text to Agatha and Niel, asking if they want to come along for coffee. If they accept then maybe Niel can help her in changing Agatha’s decision about asking Baz (of all people) for help.

 **_Simon_ ** _: coffee @ 4, after school?_

 **_Niel_ ** _: i’m down. agatha?_

 **_Agatha_ ** _: You lot should really be resting._

 **_Simon_ ** _: boo. me and niel will go alone then. Stay home and be boring._

 **_Agatha_ ** _: Fine, you're paying, though._

Simon smiles and pockets her phone, skipping back to the change rooms to grab her backpack and begin her walk home.

**~*~**

Agatha’s tapping her pencil on the coffee table angrily, eyebrows slanted down, with her lips stuck in her ever present pout. “It’s a good idea, I don’t understand why you guys won’t see the good in it.”

“She’s literally part of the opposing team!” Niel huffs, pushing her bangs out of her face.

“That’s not the point.” 

Simon stirs her iced coffee with the straw, watching the ice cubes knock against each other. 

She really should’ve thought this over. Agatha and Niel almost always clash on ideas that have to do with the team, and even though this is technically _just_ for her, it doesn’t seem like the two of them will be agreeing on something anytime soon.

Simon sighs and slumps into her chair. “We don’t need _help_ , okay. I’m sorry I messed up last game but that was my fault! I’ll make up for it.” _Somehow_. She doesn’t add that last part. 

Agatha looks wary, but she nods reluctantly, finishing up the last of her scone and tea. 

Simon _knows_ she’ll figure it out. She has to, because Agatha is depending on her, and her team is depending on her. 

She doesn’t need someone else’s help.

And she tries to remind herself of that as she stumbles upon Baz (accidentally) at the coffee shop she frequents almost a week after their game.

 _Tough luck_.

**_BAZ_ **

Ignoring Simon on the field is not an option. 

She’s graceless, all brute force driving her way forward. She doesn’t even need the fancy tricks to work her way towards the goal, as long as she’s using her broad shoulders to get herself there. It’s been that way ever since she joined the team last August, making her way out onto the field with a fierce blush and a grin wide enough to rival their goalie’s. 

Baz spends more time playing full back than goalie, because no one else is agile enough to steal the ball out from under her. She’s nearly impossible to ignore, from her impressive strength to the crop of golden curls on her head, and that lip piercing that flashes bright when she grins at a scored goal. 

It’s a shame she’s devastatingly persistent. More so that Baz has to ignore her off the field, for the sake of her sanity. It’s proving to be increasingly difficult, as she’s followed Baz into her favorite coffee shop almost a week after their last game. It feels like it _should_ be an accident, but Simon’s been eyeballing her from across the room.

“C’mon. Baz. Baz. _Baz_.”

 _This is the worst day of my life_ , Baz considers saying. _Please stop pestering me._

The words die on the tip of her tongue when she catches sight of Simon’s outfit, a baggy cropped t-shirt on top of these hideous cargo pants. It’s a wonder she manages to play so well, considering she dresses like she can’t see. 

“ _Baz_ ,” she hears again, and finally, she meets her eye.

“What?” Baz replies harshly, clearing her throat to soften her tone. Her mouth has gone incredibly dry at the sight of those vibrant blue eyes, though. Shifting her attention wins her a smile though, so she supposes it’s worth it. 

“You know _what_ ,” Simon grouses, tugging at her curls. Baz grabs her drink from the counter, ignoring the way Simon presses in closely behind her to follow.

“No,” she replies simply, flashing a sarcastic smile as she gets into her car. Simon eyes it enviously from outside, staring at Baz like she’s trying to burn holes in the windows. Baz rolls her window down for a moment as she starts the car, tugging her skirt down as she shifts in her seat. 

She stares at Simon coolly, waiting for whatever she has to say. It ends up being, “ _please_ ,” which is the last thing that Baz expected. Simon grovels and complains, and acts as fierce as possible when she’s trying to score, and even now, her questions are more demanding than anything. Baz didn’t expect an actual question, much less something so akin to begging. 

“Ask Bunce,” Baz replies, ignoring the pretty curl of Simon’s lashes and the spill of freckles on her face. If she focused too much on that, she might agree, and then she’d find herself doing anything she asked. 

“She won’t tell me _anything_ ,” Simon grumbles, curls flying wildly as she shakes her head. Baz rolls up her window, tapping her nails on the wheel as she mutters, “Tough luck.”

It takes her less than two seconds to drive out, though she takes her time so she can stare at Simon in the rear view mirror, body slanted in solid, pretty lines. She pretends that her attraction doesn’t matter and tries to focus her mind on the things that do, but she finds herself lost in thought most of the way home anyway. 

There’s a text on her phone when she gets there, something from the group chat she has with Bunce and Devan. _Write some plays down for Coach_ , it reads, the grammar impeccable, which makes it unmistakably Penelope. 

_Dont 4get 2 include the new pass 2 striker,_ the following one reads, crude and undeniably Devan. 

Baz isn’t quite sure how they all get along so well, though she suspects it has to do with the careful balance they have on the field, and the social hierarchy they naturally fall into outside of practice.

She rolls her eyes but types out an agreement anyway, abandoning her phone in the sheets in search of her notebook and earphones. Once she’s scrawled out the plays, her hands become idle, sketching random lines along one of the empty pages. She stills when she realizes she’s drawing the slope of a face, a broad nose bridge following in its wake. 

She colors them in neatly to cover them, flipping to another clean page and starting at the top. 

**_A Comprehensive List of Reasons To Stop Being Interested in Simon Snow:_ **

  * **_Her name is Simon? Where is the class? She could have at least picked something more tasteful, nevermind the fact that it suits her._**


  * She’s got horribly broad shoulders. She’d stretch out all of my shirts. If she wanted to wear them.


  * Her freckles and moles look ridiculous. Like someone went and flicked dirt on her. It’s even worse when the pitch is muddy, because they multiply by the thousands and I can’t even tell which are which no matter how hard I stare. And then I get distracted trying to figure out the patterns.


  * She’s a distraction period, and I can’t play my best if I’m distracted.



Baz looks over what she’s written, then rips the page out carefully and folds it into neat squares. She lights the candle on her desk, dips the paper into the flames and waits for it to catch before she throws it in the metal bin.

The song she queued up fades, and the next one plays. She sighs as she flops onto her bed, shutting her eyes against the world and letting the memory of Simon’s face lull her into a nap. 

**~*~**

All week, practice is grueling. Bunce is trying out some new pass play where she steals the ball from offense and drives it back to Baz to clear from the goal, and it’s working about as well as they expected it to. Which is not very, if Coach’s sharp sighs have any weight on the matter. 

On the last day of practice before the weekend, they _finally_ manage to get it down. The timing couldn’t be better, since they have two games coming up in the next week. The next time they’ll play Simon’s team is if they both make it to the championships - unlikely for her school, but routine for Baz’s.

She’s hoping they make it though, just to try out this flawless play and watch Simon’s head spin. She’d fume about it throughout the game, but the moment it was over, she’d meet up with Bunce, smiling brighter than the floodlights on the sidelines, piercing glinting wickedly in their glare.

Baz has seen it happen too many times - Simon drilling Penelope on a move just as soon as the game ends, and Bunce’s hasty, exhausted reply.

They practice it a couple more times, running drill after drill until Coach is pleased (and legally obligated to let them leave) and then they all take off to the locker rooms. Devan catches up with her on the way off, lengthening her stride when she realizes Baz has no intention of slowing down. 

“Jesus, would it kill you to relax for once?” 

“We have a new teammate named Jesus?” Baz responds, looking around exaggeratedly until Devan groans beside her and slaps her upside the head. 

“Seriously, we need to talk.”

Baz glances at her, curiosity only just peaked. “So, talk.”

“It’s about-” Devan says, glancing around before jogging in front of Baz to force her to stop walking. Her voice is pitched lower as she whispers, “The _trio_.”

Baz instantly cuts her off, shoving her hand into Devan’s forehead and moving her out of the way. “We’re not talking about the fucking _trio_ , Dev.”

“We have to at some point! It’s important.”

“What exactly is important about your crush on Wellbelove?”

Devan jogs in front of her again, this time putting her arms up to ward off Baz’s hands. 

“Not the crush. They’re working on something new, I’ve seen it,” she says, hands gesturing wildly for emphasis. “Talked to Niel the other day and she said the same thing. It’s some wicked three-passer.”

“That’s not a word,” Baz interrupts dryly. “Or an actual move.”

“Three-way pass. Between the three of them, to get the ball out there for Snow to score.”

Baz frowns. Devan’s always been insistent on calling Simon by her last name, though that may be because Baz does it herself. It has nothing to do with the fierce grin she earns when she says it, or the growl she gets to hear when Simon gets close enough to knock over. 

“There’s no way that works,” Baz scoffs. “Someone’s bound to get it back on our side.” Halfway through her reply, Devan starts shaking her head, hands coming up to gesture again. 

“You haven’t seen it. It’s incredible, like. The _speed_.”

“I’m aware,” Baz says, as they come up on the locker room door. She pushes the door open, greeted by the dull silence of her tired teammates and the sound of Coach’s raucous laughter.

Baz grabs her bag from her locker, popping by Devan and asking if she wants a ride, before heading to the lot to head home. She’s fuming on the way back, chewing her lip and thinking of Devan’s words. 

Out of Simon’s whole team, there’s three of them that stand out. The Golden Trio, as they’ve been so affectionately dubbed by nearly everyone in the league, stands out for their hair mostly. Simon’s got a fair shade of bronze, next to Wellbelove’s pale gold strands, and accompanied by Niel, with her shock of ginger hair. 

She suspects it has more to do with their preceding reputation for being sweethearts than their hair color though. Baz’s team is leading - there hasn’t been a year where Watford North _doesn’t_ come out in first - but their trio poses an honest threat that Baz has come to admire. They’d win the high spirits award, if there was one.

Devan’s probably right to be worried, but as long as Bunce keeps her mouth shut when Simon comes around asking for pointers, they’ll be fine. The thought settles her as she drives back, winding carefully through the twisting driveway before she parks and heads to take a shower. 

**~*~**

Simon Snow has taken it upon herself to show up at Baz’s favorite coffee shop _again_. 

_The nerve of this girl_ , Baz thinks and doesn’t say, because the last thing she wants is to get rid of her. Though, she could stand to lose a few of her theatrics. She’s proving to be a significant distraction while Baz is in the middle of an essay. 

“Baz, _c’mon_ . Penny won’t tell me anything, come on. Come on. _Baz_. Baz, are you listening?” 

“Unfortunately,” Baz replies, trying to get her fingers to spell out sentences that have nothing to do with Simon. She finds herself typing “ _shut up,_ ” and hastily erases it, leaning her head conspicuously towards the air vent to cool her heated cheeks. 

“So you’ll help me?” Simon asks, tone lilting towards hopeful. She’s seated herself across from Baz stubbornly, taking sips of her iced tea while Baz chugs at her own latte in between furious typing. 

She hums a moment later, when Simon’s words process. “No.”

“You’re a bitch,” Simon mutters, but her tone is defeated, and the insult doesn’t land.

Baz stops typing in favor of staring at her. “For doing my work? Hardly. Unless your accent is stopping you from pronouncing ‘Pitch’ properly.”

“It’s not,” Simon interrupts, rolling her eyes. “You _can_ be.”

“So can _you_ , Snow.”

Simon frowns at that, closing Baz’s laptop with her broad hand. Baz is about to reprimand her, already leaning forward to tell her off, when Simon moves into her space. Her cool breath washes over Baz’s face, too close for Baz to do anything but clamp her mouth closed and hold herself in place against the temptation to close the distance. 

“Help me,” she says again, insistent, a near demand. Baz’s eyes drop to the freckled expanse of her shoulders, the white of her sleeveless top framing her golden skin effortlessly. _Christ, Baz is going to tear into Bunce as soon as she can for this._

“If I do,” Baz starts carefully, shifting her gaze back up to Simon’s eyes. There’s a tilt to her mouth, something amused and excited curling up in her lips. “If I help you, we do it on my terms.” Baz knows it’s a pointless reminder - if Simon were to set her own terms, she’d be helpless.

She nods excitedly, leaning forward and nearly knocking into Baz’s nose. “Yeah. Yes. Okay!” Beaming, she clears her throat and moves back. The excitement in her is radiant, bursting at the edges of her expression no matter how stubbornly she sets her face to conceal it. Baz can feel something tug in her chest at the sight, proud of being the cause for it. 

_This will be fine_ , she reassures herself, as Simon gives her a tentative thanks and leaves the shop. Baz watches her go, smiling faintly despite herself. As soon as Simon’s out of sight, the smile twists into a vicious snarl as she picks her phone up.

 **_Baz_ ** _: You’re an absolute fiend, Penelope. Your clothes shouldn’t even fit her._

 **_Bunce_ ** _: Are you accusing me of plotting, Baz? If you must know, she asked to borrow that shirt._

Baz chews on her thumb as she considers that answer, flipping open her laptop absentmindedly. She’s about to type out her reply when a new message comes in.

_Bunce: But, it’s no surprise that you have a thing for her shoulders. She’s not dense._

A shrugging emoji follows it, and Baz curses and sets her phone aside. She types out the rest of her essay, ignoring the restless vibrating of her phone until the sky grows dark outside the window and her drink has gone cold. 

As she’s packing up, she catches sight of a piece of paper wedged underneath her laptop. 

_Here’s my number_ , it reads, followed by a series of digits. The _i_ in _Simon_ has been dotted with a heart, and Baz has to grip the table to keep her balance as her knees go weak. 

**_SIMON_ **

Simon jumps from foot to foot, her excitement practically _bursting_ out of her. 

_Baz accepted_ . Reluctantly, at first, but she _accepted_. 

Simon steps out of the cafe lighter, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Days of (minorly) stalking Baz enough to work up the courage to actually talk to her, face to face, payed off. 

It was more intimidating than it should’ve been, Simon thinks. Baz’s eyes raked up and down her frame, and Simon found herself squirming under her scrutiny, feeling smaller than she should’ve. 

Baz’s eyes are _sharp_ . The eyeliner placed so strategically on her eyelids brings out the striking grey of her eyes. Her crooked nose, the septum piercing lying just underneath. The fact that when she ties her hair up for games, her undercut is visible and Simon _ascends_. She finds herself gripping her worn out joggers tighter than she should.

Simon finds her mind drifting to Baz, Baz, _Baz_ , the next day at school. 

Her hands move on their own, scribbling Baz’s name all over. A small doodle of her face appears at the corner of her notebook and that’s when Simon promptly rips the page from her book and throws it into the trash can. 

_Stupid- stupid crush. Stupid Baz. Stupid me, what am I doing_?

Baz texts her a few days after Simon saw her at the cafe. A simple _Hello,_ and nothing else. With just one word she shivers and types back _hi! when do you want to meet up? :)_ and pockets her phone.

Simon tries to keep her mind off of Baz throughout the day. She stumbles upon Agatha as soon as she exits her last class of the day, textbooks packed messily in her bag.

“Uh, yes, Aggie?” 

She huffs and grabs her hand. “You didn’t even tell me!” _She sounds betrayed_ . _What did she do this time?_

“You got Baz to give you a chance?”

“Yeah? How’d you find out?”

“I was talking to Penelope a few nights ago, says you were begging for _her_ help and then asked Baz.”

“She wouldn’t help me though.” Simon frowns and slumps against Agatha’s side. She pushes her back upright and flicks her forehead. 

“She wouldn’t help you because she’s the busiest person we know. Her schedule is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Anyways, how’d you get Baz to help you out? She doesn’t seem like the type of girl to give in so easily.”

“Persistence!” 

“That’s… very unconvincing.”

Simon blows a raspberry at Agatha, “You _literally_ asked me. How about you go ask her?” 

The two of them reach the school entrance and Agatha asks Simon if she wants a ride home, which she denies in favor of walking 

Simon realizes, when rain starts to drizzle onto her head, that she probably should’ve accepted. Her house is a 20 minute walk from school. She finds a nearby bus stop and leans against the wall.

She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket, a string of messages appearing in her notifications and she sighs, reluctantly opening her phone to see who would want to talk to her right after school.

Simon yawns and squints at the screen. 

**_Baz Pitch:_ ** _Is this coming weekend alright with your schedule?_

 **_Baz Pitch:_ ** _Considering you’re busy and all._

 **_Baz Pitch:_ ** _Meet me on my school’s field. 10 o’clock sharp._

She stares at the texts longer than she should. 

The fact that _Baz_ of all people is helping her. Helping her with what? She doesn’t exactly know.

Baz is one of the _best_ fullbacks Simon’s ever seen. Though, considering the fact that she’s only played five schools, the criteria isn’t that high.

Baz is beyond ruthless on the field; Simon can barely recount the times she’s _not_ had the ball stolen from her when Baz is on the field. It pisses her off to no end but at the same time _it’s unbelievably hot_ . She unwillingly thinks that she’d purposely let herself lose time and time again to Baz _just_ to see that cunning smile of hers that makes her canines glint in the sunlight.

Simon’s staring distantly at a tree when another text from Baz makes her phone shake against her hand.

 **_Baz Pitch:_ ** _I swear if you’re one minute late, I’ll kill you myself._

Simon bites her lip to stifle a laugh. _The passive aggressiveness this girl radiates is palpable_. 

**_Simon Snow:_ ** _were you gonna hire a hitman or smth_

 **_Simon Snow:_ ** _i’ll be there!! don’t cancel or some shit. i need this_

 **_Baz Pitch:_ ** _It’s not like you would let me cancel._

 **_Simon Snow:_ ** _tut tut u know u want to help me :^)_

Simon stares at the screen for a bit longer before realizing that a) Baz probably won’t respond anytime soon and b) the rain has died down enough for Simon to sprint home. Shoving her phone in her pocket, she breaks into a run and pulls her hood up to cover her hair.

**~*~**

**_Baz Pitch:_ ** _Use that face one more fucking time, I dare you._

 ** _Simon Snow:_ ** _:^)_

**~*~**

The rest of the week passes in a blur of texting Baz memes and drawing small doodles of her in the corner of her math textbook. Simon fiddles with her lip piercing as she, once again, scribbles over every single doodle in her textbook. 

Niel stares at Simon curiously before her lips turn up into a sly smile. “Hey, Si, what’s that little scribble on your textbook?” She points towards the smudge of ink. “Surely you're not damaging school property, are you?”

Simon sniffs and kicks her shin. “Like you care. Look.” She flips the pages until the reaches the page of contents, a crudely drawn middle finger is splayed across the page, the text _“fuck you Alice”_ written messily beside it. “I’m not the first.”

“I wonder who Alice is.”

“Why?”

“I wonder what she _did_.”

“Don’t get all philosophical on me.”

Niel wiggles her eyebrows and goes back to writing her notes. 

Simon’s phone buzzes a few seconds after class ends. She runs up to the front of the school, making her way down her usual route home, her bag slung on her right shoulder.

 **_Baz Pitch:_ ** _Again, if you’re late, I’ll crucify you._

 **_Simon Snow:_ ** _awww u wouldnt bazzy_

 **_Baz Pitch:_ ** _Don’t test me._

Simon honest to god _giggles_ and she covers her face with her arm to hide her blush. 

_No, no, no_. This isn’t supposed to happen. 

She starts walking a bit faster and purses her lips. Was she _actually_ doing this to get better? To get help? 

Or was she trying to gain Baz’s attention? Not on the field or other places when she’s glaring at her, but in a moment when she can see Baz’s snarky humour peek through her sharp texts and reprimands.

Is it so much for her to want Baz to give her a _genuine_ smile? Not sarcastic like when Simon does something stupid or when Baz accidentally trips over something that wasn’t there and she was the only one who saw. One with the gentle quirk of her lip when her team scores an unlikely goal, or when, alternatively, Simon does something stupid _again_.

Simon’s phone vibrates against her thigh and she yanks it out of her pocket, swiping right to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Snow.” 

_Baz_.

How much time has she spent pacing around her front yard? She hasn’t even gotten changed and the field is an hour walk away.

“Oh fuck. No-! I’m coming I-”

“You have,” Simon hears some rustling, “15 minutes. Give me your address.” 

Simon’s eyes widen and she leans the phone onto her shoulder so she can unlock the door. “Why? Why do you need my address? Are you actually going to-”

“Give. Me your. Address.”

She grunts and kicks off her shoes, dropping her bag beside the door and knocking it closed with her hips. “Why do you need it?”

“Listen. You have 15 minutes to shower and change and do whatever the fuck you do to get ready.”

“But _why-?_ ” 

She interrupts herself to run upstairs to her room and yank off her top and socks.

“I’m picking you up you absolute fool,” she snarls, almost _growling_. Simon gulps.

“It’s ok _ay_ ,” she practically whines, “I’ll like, run or something and shower later.”

“God no. Get ready.” And then Baz ends the call. _She’s bloody infuriating._

Simon huffs and throws her phone on her bed. “ _God no. Get ready,_ ” she mimics. “I’m not even _that_ dirty.”

In all that fuss, Simon barely even notices that Baz never calls. This was their first one. 

**~*~**

True to her word, Baz arrives at her address less than 15 minutes after Simon had hopped into the shower, honking the car's horn relentlessly to gain her attention.

Simon huffs and all but falls down the stairs in an attempt to get outside faster. She stubs her toe while falling and bites her lip to contain the groan that was about to fall off her lips. “ _Shit._ ” 

Hopping on one foot, she slips her shoes on and yanks her bag from off the floor onto her shoulders. 

Baz is still honking when she opens the door, it sounds even _louder_ now that there aren’t any walls to block out the noise. Simon flips her the bird. “You can stop now. I’m here.”

Baz smirks but ceases her furious beeping, leaning back in her seat. Simon races to the passenger seat and drops her bag in front of her. 

“Onwards!”

**~*~**

“ _Fuck_ .” Simon groans. This is the fourth time Baz has knocked her over in _ten_ minutes. Her muscles ache and she swears she can hear her bones creaking. “I feel like an old lady compared to you.”

Baz raises a brow and snorts, “Get up. We’re going again.”

“ _Nooo_.” Simon pouts, flipping over so she’s laying on her stomach, elbows digging into the dirt of the field. 

Baz nudges her side lightly with her foot, then leaves promptly to retrieve the ball they kicked over the fence a while back. Simon might’ve punted it with a bit more force than needed.

She comes back a few minutes later, dribbling the ball. Her hair’s tied up and her septum piercing is flipped down, unlike when she’s playing a match. Simon purses her lips. “Break.”

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“ _No_ , get up.”

She whines, but gets up regardless, dusting off her elbows and shorts, then fixing her messed up ponytail.

“I’m so tired.” 

“I know.”

“I wanna go _home_.”

“No you don’t.”

“I’m thirsty.” 

Baz tosses her a water bottle and Simon fails to catch it. It slams into her chest and she winces. “Ow.” 

“That was your fault. It was a good throw.”

“Listen. I play with my _feet_ not my hands.” 

Baz raises a brow ( _again_ ). “You want my help, don’t you? Act like it. I’m not wasting my time here.” 

Simon crouches and looks up at the sky, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Break.”

Baz looks over at Simon curiously, tilting her head to the side. “Okay.” 

**_BAZ_**

Even on the floor, with her face flushed down to her neck and covered in mud and sweat, Simon Snow is breathtaking. 

In more ways than one - Baz can barely catch her breath after the drill they just ran, exhausted by the unrelenting energy that Snow puts behind every one of her moves. It’s like she’s the sun, endless energy outpouring onto the world around her.

Baz, on the contrary, is burning up. Her hair is _frizzing_. That’s how hard they’ve been working on this. 

“Again,” Simon pants after a while, but she makes no move to get up as she takes a deep breath. “C’mon.”

Baz can’t quite hide her grin. “You’re the one still on the floor,” she huffs breathlessly. “Get up.”

Simon swings her legs up and Baz is distracted for half a second by the way her t-shirt rides up, exposing the tanned skin of her hip bones. She curses quietly, dribbling the ball between her feet as she waits (rather impatiently) for Simon to get up again. 

Though, with the way her legs feel, she wouldn’t mind lying down as well. They’ve been at it for _far_ too long. 

“Hey, kick it out over there!” she gestures, already walking away to intercept it. Baz watches as she flicks her hair up smoothly, pushing the curls off her forehead with a headband, before letting them loose with a huff. 

“How far?” Baz asks dryly, recalling how last time she’d kicked it _“out over there,”_ Simon had complained endlessly about the distance she had to cover. 

“Give it everything.”

So Baz does, placing the ball a few feet in front of her and then running back to give herself momentum. The second her foot connects, she knows it’s gone. What she _didn’t_ anticipate was Simon already speeding after it, tracking the ball with her eyes. Baz watches incredulously as she jumps, head arching back to connect. The ball bounces off her forehead, impressively. Baz feels her jaw fall open. 

Simon lets out a victorious sort of yell, a deep scream that comes from her core and makes Baz shudder. As she comes back, dribbling the ball between her feet, Baz wonders where she learned to do that.

Simon got tired of her shots being blocked in goal a while ago, so now Baz is working on defense, stealing the ball out from under her before she can even make the shot. Somehow, this infuriates her less than if she was shooting hopelessly. Baz is just thankful for the opportunity to get closer, and for the satisfaction that comes from every trick play. 

“Hey Baz?”

“Hey, Snow.”

“Watch out,” she grins, side stepping Baz’s leg sweep and taking the ball forward. Baz curses, doubling back to try and knock it forward, but the momentum takes her too far and she crashes into Simon’s chest, knocking them both over with a resounding thud.

For a moment, all Baz can think of is the ball, abandoned by the goal in front of them. She suspects that her focused line of thought is more so her brain doesn’t crash with what’s happening.

Simon’s underneath her, not struggling. Too tired to move, Baz presumes, from the way she looks up at the sky vacantly. She can feel her stomach heaving with every breath under her, feels the way heat leeches through her shirt onto Baz’s own skin. Simon’s hair is falling back and Baz gets a proper look at her eyes, blue and reflecting the sky above them. 

She should move.

She doesn’t want to move.

She’d be perfectly content here, staring at Simon Snow’s eyes and never playing football again. Even if this isn’t the most ideal thing - awkward angles and the wedge of Simon’s hip bone digging into Baz’s stomach. 

Simon splutters as Baz’s hair escapes her hair tie and falls onto her face. Her face flushes a deeper shade of red than it had been, freckles nearly disappearing under the color, and Baz is suddenly drawn in by her reaction.

Simon lets out a tiny defeated sigh, and Baz feels her face heat steadily at the noise, opting to focus instead on the grass beside Simon’s hair, ignoring the way the bronze tinge of her curls stands out against the green.

“Er,” she says, wiggling her hips and blushing further. Baz is too stunned to move, even as Simon starts talking.

“I get it, you got me,” she huffs, lifting her head the slightest bit, looking at something behind Baz. She’s about to turn and look when she feels Simon’s leg wrap around her hip. About fourteen different scenarios in which she’s imagined this moment flash through her head, before Simon flips them over, rolling on top of Baz with a fierce grin on her face. 

She’s dreamt of this before, although they were up in Baz’s bedroom, wearing significantly less clothing than this. Baz wills her thoughts away desperately, focusing on anything but the feeling of Simon’s weight on top of her. 

“Gotcha!” she laughs, head falling back in spite of herself. Baz huffs weakly under her, pressing her hands into the ground by her hips to keep them from coming up to Simon’s waist. Her eyes crinkle at the edges, freckles collapsing and wrinkling under the laugh lines around her mouth. 

In short: She’s absolutely ethereal, and Baz is absolutely fucked.

She’ll never win the next game like this, not when she has the image of Simon above her, curls fanning out like a golden halo above her head. The coffee stained print of her freckles mixing in with dust and flecks of yellow grass. Her sky-blue eyes, cast upward and then down to Baz’s own face. 

“Simon,” she manages, voice coming out dry as dust. She clears her throat and tries again, face turned to the side. “You still haven’t scored.”

That makes her laugh again, a glorious sound like she can’t help it. She looks down at Baz again and shifts off, landing to her left with a quiet grunt. Baz can’t help but look over at her, and her heart skips a beat when she sees Simon already staring back. 

After that, practice is impossible. Being underneath Simon is all she can think of throughout the rest of their impromptu practice. Simon scores on her at least four times, and the only thing Baz can say for herself is that she’s tired from earlier. Simon doesn’t ease up at all, even though she’s starting to droop forward with exhaustion. 

Once Baz trips on the ball, she calls it a day, laying flat on the floor while Simon jogs circles around her, dribbling the ball between her feet. She worries silently as she watches Simon turn around, keeping the ball firmly tucked against her left foot.

 _Christ, what if she’s actually that good?_

The thought spins in her mind for a few minutes before she dismantles it, assuring herself that it’s the exhaustion and heady want coursing through her body that’s slowing her down. Simon tilts her head to meet Baz’s eyes, perhaps catching the worry there, because she moves to offer her a hand. 

Baz takes it, ignoring the soft feel of her wide palm. Her legs feel sore _and_ wobbly, an uncomfortable combination, but she brushes it off to glare heatedly at Simon.

“Well-”

“Thank you,” Simon blurts, mouth working like she wants to say something else. Eventually, she looks away and Baz pulls her hand back, only just noticing they were still clutching onto one another. 

“For?”

“Helping me,” Simon says, head dipping forward. Her curls fall over the headband and without thinking, Baz steps forward and tucks the loose pieces under the fabric. Simon looks up at her, eyes wide and confused, and so lovely, despite the way her eyelashes are clumping together. 

Baz sucks in a breath at the sight of it and steps away quickly, hands coming back to her side in clenched fists. Simon touches the pieces of hair that were tucked away, and smiles cautiously. 

“Thanks,” she says again, staring down at the floor before looking up. “I’m gonna head out.” Baz watches helplessly as she starts to walk away, before she cups her hands around her mouth to shout, “Catch a ride with me!”

Simon stops, turning with the broadest grin on her face, and nods. Baz swallows her nerves down hard and nods back, and Simon waits for her to catch up so they can walk together. 

**_SIMON_ **

Simon’s unsure why exactly she’d accepted Baz’s request. _Why is she taking up a ride with the opposing team?_ A team they’ve lost to, over and over. It’s driving her insane - she can’t even get a straightforward answer from her own brain. It’s all too content with replaying the moment Baz’s hand came up to brush her hair away from her face.

_Come on, don’t let me down today._

Baz fiddles with her keys, pressing a button down to unlock the doors. A short beep follows.

“You can go in now,” she says when she sees Simon hesitate to open the door. “It won’t bite.” 

Simon lets out a reluctant giggle. Her cheeks and ears are flushed, and she thanks every deity out there for the fact that it’s a cloudy night. She ducks her head and falls into the passenger’s seat, stretching out her legs. 

Baz follows soon after her, pulling on her belt and starting up the car.

The silence is uncomfortable, but comfortable at the same time. On the edge of being suffocating, but in a good way, more like tension.

Simon fiddles with her lip piercing, then drops her hand to mess with the hem of her tank top. She rolls her windows down to feel the breeze when she feels herself burning up again. 

Simon wants to spend more time with Baz, more time seeing her smile and glow when she scores a goal, more time seeing her icy demeanor fall into the soft girl she sees when they’ve scored a particularly hard goal, or the time when she brushed her hair back. _Fuck_ , Simon really wants what she can’t have.

 _But_ , her mind interrupts, _what she can’t have is something that happened a few minutes ago._

The glow of her grey eyes when the sun was setting, and the orange of the sky lightening her face, giving the bronze of her skin a glow that made Simon’s knees _weak_. When the clouds had covered the moon, when the two of them couldn’t see in the dark, fumbling for each other's hands to find their way to the other. 

Simon sticks her head out the window, and she feels her thoughts get swept away with the heavy night wind.

They reach Simon’s house sooner than she would like. She finds herself hesitating on her moves, stuttering on her words, before she finally blurts, “Do you wanna come over?”

“...What?” 

“Not today, I mean, you look really tired- But like, we can paint each other's nails? Or something?”

“...Or something?”

Simon furrows her eyebrows. “You’re an ass.”

Baz’s lips quirk up into an almost-smile, and Simon counts it as a win. “I’m kidding. Yeah, okay, I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. See you, Baz.”

Baz hums and closes her eyes, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “See you, Snow.”

And then, she drives away.

Simon tears her eyes away from the back of Baz's car and retrieves her keys from the depths of her pocket, unlocking the door swiftly and laying her bag on the stool set in the entrance quietly.

She risks a quick glance at the clock in the foyer and curses when she sees the time. _10 pm_ , they’d been practicing for _six_ hours.

She creeps up the stairs and opens the door to her room, picking off her socks and slinging her top and shorts into the corner of her room. Simon flops onto her bed and buries her face into her pillow. _She’s tired_. She’ll take a shower tomorrow.

She feels around her bed for her phone, sending off a quick text to Baz.

**_Simon Snow:_ ** _practice tomorrow?_

She tosses it to the far end of her bed and contemplates her choices. 

Does she actually want to improve? Is she trying to trick herself into something? 

Baz looks as good as ever on the field, but sometimes her eyes drift to her lips, and not the ball. _She could’ve won if she’d not looked at her face_ . Her stupid, stupid face. Her stupid hair, stupid, _stupid_ Baz. Simon punctuates every word with a punch to her mattress. 

Her heart honest to _god_ skips a beat when she catches a glimpse of those shy smiles Baz throws Simon over her shoulders when she scores a goal. 

Is this what it’s like to have a crush?

Simon decides she doesn’t like it. _Go away_. 

She sighs deeply and checks to see if her door’s closed before pulling up the blankets in an attempt to fall asleep.

She fails.

Tossing and turning to no end, she sits up and moves her pillows around so she can lean against her headboard comfortably. 

And then she succumbs to the thoughts about Baz. _She doesn’t know what to do_. Who does she ask for help? Nobody.

She could wake up her Mum? _No._

Call Agatha? _No again._

Run to Niel’s house and complain until she kicks her out? _Tempting, but no_.

Simon’s come to a dead end. It’s not like _she_ could figure it out herself. Figure out if her crush is out of pure admiration because Baz is something akin to famous, or if it’s genuine.

What even is a genuine crush? _Is this even a crush_? 

She feels like a bloody middle schooler. She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

What does she like about Baz? Her hair (because it’s long?) Her smile? Her snark? When she _actually_ seems to have fun playing against her in practice? 

Her phone vibrates from the edge of her bed and she unfolds her legs to reach forward. 

**_Posh Idiot:_ ** _Yes._

Simon’s legs flop up and down from underneath the blanket. _More practice_.

No. _More getting to see Baz, getting to be with Baz_. 

And she feels herself drift off to the thought of grey eyes and bronze skin.

**_BAZ_ **

In a moment of weakness, it was all too easy to accept Simon’s offer. With the way she looked in the slant of moonlight, blue eyes shining like pearls in the darkness, it was even more difficult to stay silent than usual. 

So, now they have a bloody _date_. Except, Baz isn’t even sure if it counts as one. Painting each other’s nails right before the final games? They’d be holding hands extensively, at least. Baz isn’t sure whether that qualifies as a date or not. She’s not sure of much of anything, besides the fact that Simon’s probably going to want to practice again, and she won’t be able to deny her.

She speeds away after dropping Simon off, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel and glancing at the dusty imprint of Simon’s cleats on the passenger seat floor while she’s stopped at red lights. The shade filters through the darkness, enough so that Baz can close her eyes for a moment to recall the events of earlier. She brings her hands up to her warm face, trying to push down the stubborn smile that keeps resurfacing.

“Get a grip,” she mutters quietly as she parks in the driveway. She eases the door shut with her hip, wincing at the soreness in her muscles, before trudging upstairs for the longest shower of her life. 

**~*~**

As predicted, Simon’s already left a text while Baz was showering. 

**_Insufferable Beautiful Idiot:_ ** _practice tomorrow?_

Baz takes a second to take it in, cursing quietly under her breath.Then, she types out a simple _yes_ , before throwing her phone aside. She trusts Simon to come up with a time on her own, and Baz will swing by to give her a ride. 

They end up meeting every day that week, after their own team practices. The sunset filters through Simon’s hair, distracting Baz at every moment that she allows it to. Simon herself spends it mostly trying to score on Baz, while she works on disarming and defense. 

It’s simple, if a little worrying. Simon tests things with her feet, eyes shifting downwards as if she’s practicing all new moves. When Baz asks her about it, she goes silent and flushes redder than before, as if she’s hiding something. It’s probably embarrassment, but Baz can’t help but feel nervous for the upcoming games.

She’s dropped it since then, all too content with watching Simon run herself ragged around the pitch and trying to score. Baz has to cancel a practice because her team has a game, and then Simon has one the next day.

When they both come back on Friday, the reality sinks in that they’ll each be playing championships. It’s a three game knockout, Baz’s team playing some school from outside Watford. If they win, they advance to play the Dragons. And then again, if they win that, they play whoever comes out of Simon’s bracket alive. 

She’s hoping desperately that it won’t be Simon’s team, but every fiber in her body is screaming for the challenge. She’s gotten better at figuring out Baz’s defenses, lowering them with practiced ease, but she’s still clumsy with the ball. Her bad habit of second guessing is going to be the only thing keeping Baz’s team alive, with how smart she’s gotten about her plays.

Overall, it’s the quietest practice they’ve had for a while. Baz swallows down her nervous reflexes and Simon’s mouth is pursed with concentration. The occasional direction is given, but even the drive home after is silent. 

Simon only speaks after Baz is parked in her driveway. “Hey. I’m not going to lose. My team’s good to go.”

The words are confident, but her tone is wavering, reluctant despite her sharp eyes. Baz clamps down on the challenge, taking the opportunity to move in closer. 

“You sure about that?” Baz makes sure that her tone is confident to offset Simon’s, bolstered by an absolute certainty. Simon’s eyes dart nervously away, then drop down to Baz’s lips, before they move back to her eyes. 

At first, Baz thinks it’s a trick of the light, wishful thinking combined with the moonlight. Then it happens again, and again, without Simon saying a single word. Baz leans back, and Simon follows. 

“Yeah. Yeah, pretty sure,” she finally says, eyes fixed on Baz’s mouth. The air suddenly feels stifling between them, breaths ricocheting rapidly, far too close together. Baz needs to move before her impulse takes over and she kisses her, but Simon isn’t backing down either. For the longest second, she’s absolutely sure she’s going to move forward and kiss her.

Then, a spell breaks, and the moment dissipates. Simon catches herself, eyes flicking back up to Baz’s with hesitation, before she moves back against the car door. 

Baz’s voice gets caught in her throat, and she forces out a dry whisper. “Okay.”

Simon nods, face revolving through a complicated mix of emotions before settling on something unreadable. Baz forces herself to breathe against the thick feeling in her chest as Simon withdraws. She fumbles for the door handle, avoiding Baz’s eyes as she steps out with a quick mumble of thanks.

And then Baz is alone, wondering what the fuck just happened. 

**_SIMON_ **

_Fuck_. 

That’s all her brain can supply right now. She fucked up _big time._ What was she thinking? Did the small amount of self-restraint she had vanish? 

_She was about to kiss Baz_. Right there. Right after practice, while she reeked of sweat and the both of them were beyond tired. Delirious off of laughing at each other’s mistakes or when the other fell while aiming to drop-kick the ball. When someone had accidentally kicked the ball over the fence or mistakenly kicked the others leg. 

But that practice had been _silent_. More than a library. The only sound she could hear was the loud thudding of her heart and the pants coming out from her mouth. The scuffing of her cleats on grass and the shuffling of her shorts when she ran.

She might’ve thought about her _thing_ about Baz a few nights ago and it shows in her performance. Baz kept sending her cautious glances throughout practice because Simon’s never been this quiet before. And it hurt her, physically, to not make a stupid remark every once in a while. She’d kept her mouth shut tight because she _knew_ she’d say something ten times stupider than what she normally says. 

_Hey, I might like you a bit. More than bro’s, more than friends, ya dig?_

Not the most romantic way to tell someone you may or may not be in love with them.

Simon hopes that this tension fades within a few days because Baz is coming over. _She sounds like a child_. 

She hopes that maybe, _maybe_ , she could win Baz back with her horrific ability to put on nail polish. 

**~*~**

“B _az_ ,” Simon whines, throwing herself at Baz’s lap and pinching her thighs. “Baz, no work.”

“But it’s _one_ sheet.”

“You came over to talk! Not to do work! You can do this at home.” She grabs Baz’s notebook and unceremoniously throws it across the room. “You’re such a workaholic,” she murmurs. 

Simon notices that, unfortunately, the tension is still there. In the tenseness of Baz back and the way her posture is as sharp as ever. It’s pissing her off to no end and she’s determined to make Baz lose composure _just a little bit_. 

“What do you _want_ to do?”

“Paint your nails.”

Baz looks unconvinced, a single brow raised. “Are you sure your unsteady hands could handle that? Seems like a lot of work for such fidgety fingers.”

Simon pouts, “Shut up. Yes I can. Look at mine.” She waggles her fingers to show off her chipped blue varnish.

“Snow, you’re proving my point.”

She crosses her arms and turns her head away, “Do you want me to do it or not?” 

She hears Baz let out a small snort and flick her arm. “Yeah. Get started already.”

Simon instantly lightens up and moves to grab her small box of nail polish, picking out the colours of her team and snatching the box of tissues up on her vanity.

Unscrewing a bottle of navy blue, she takes Baz’s hand gently and starts applying the first coat onto the thumb of her right hand. The rest of her hand progresses smoothly, Simon occasionally switching the deep navy blue for a light yellow, adding messy stripes to her right and left thumb. 

Simon’s finishing off her pinky when she hears Baz clear her throat. “Do you need water..?”

“No, I’m alright.” 

Simon furrows her eyebrows but ignores the fact that Baz won’t meet her eyes. 

“Alright! First coat done.” She screws the cap back on and places it back into the cardboard box carefully. “Are you excited?”

“For what?”

“The next game? The one tomorrow?” Simon leans forwards and lays on her stomach next to Baz’s outstretched legs. “Jeez, where’s your head today?”

She clicks her tongue and starts drumming her fingers on her knees. Simon furrows her eyebrows and sits upright, moving Baz’s fingers so the polish doesn’t rub off on anything.

“I guess I am.” The left side of her lip quirks up into a soft smirk. _How does Baz make a smirk look soft?_

Simon’s conflicted, though. If Baz is, should she be worried Baz is going to lose? Is that too egoistic of her to think that?

“I’m going to beat your ass.”

“ _Oh_ , tough words for someone who asked the opposing team for help.” 

Simon feels Baz’s legs shaking and she lifts her head to see a full-blown smile upon her lips. Her heart _soars_. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh _yeah_. Bring it on Snow. We’ll win against you guys over, and over, and over again. I won’t even be sorry.”

 _You don’t even have to be sorry_ , Simon wants to say. If she can see this smile for the rest of her life, she’ll let Baz beat her in every game they play for as long as she lives.

Simon shifts so that she’s facing Baz. She crosses her legs and places her elbows on them, leaning forward so that she’s just inches away from her face. Baz’s eyebrows shoot up and her smile falters. _Oops_ . Simon moves back a bit, her face about an arm’s length away from Baz’s. Her expression is unreadable and Simon has no idea if she’s fucked up or just done something very, _very_ right.

Simon clears her throat, “So- um, wait what do you mean you’d beat us? Have you not seen me on the field?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Baz’s face seems to soften by a fraction. Simon thinks it’s better than the permanent scowl etched on her face.

“Just because I’ve been training you doesn’t mean you’re better than me. You still suck at defense.”

Simon scoffs and leans back on her palms. “Excuse _me_ . I don’t even play defense! Fine, your team as a _whole_ is horrible at offense.”

Baz’s eyes widen and Simon lets out a loud cackle. _She looks well offended_ , and it strikes a feeling of pride through her. Baz purses her lips and inches her hands closer to Simon’s face. “What-”

And then she promptly wipes her wet polish on her cheek. Simon gapes at Baz, who’s laying on the floor in hysterics. She shoots up to the level of her vanity mirror to check how much of it came off, reluctantly tapping her fingers on her cheek. Some of it sticks to her hand. Swiftly, she sits back down with a grin, closer to Baz this time, and wipes the residue onto her cheek. 

“ _Hey!_ You-” and she does the same with her other hand. On Simon’s cheek, and all Simon can think of is how _soft_ her hand is. The coolness of her ring and the softness of her palm have Simon feeling all types of emotions.

And it takes her a while to notice that _they’re holding each other’s face._ Simon curses internally, but when she takes a good look at Baz’s face, she sees her inching closer and closer.

_Is this really happening?_

She feels Baz’s lazy huffs of breath on her cheeks, the flutter of her eyelashes and the quiver of her lips. _Tell me, is this real? Or will you leave again?_

Baz’s eyes slide shut when Simon moves her hand from her cheeks to the back of her head, playing with her undercut. 

She moves closer, closer, _closer_ . Their noses are touching and Baz’s hands are shaking where they lay on her cheeks. _Come on_. 

They’re so close yet so far, and Simon, unwilling to admit it, feels Baz slipping from where she had her. _So close_.

 _Don’t leave_. Simon struggles to move forward, struggles to move back; she struggles to stay in the same spot, unmoving because her skin is prickling with the thought of Baz leaving her after all this is over. 

If she wins, will Baz stay with her? Will Baz chase after her? If she loses, will Baz let go?

 _Let go of what?_

And Simon, selfishly, moves forward experimentally, trying to see if Baz would do the same.

She does.

And then she moves closer, and her lips brush Simon’s and something in her brain short circuits. _Fuck._

Simon’s breath stutters and Baz’s eyes dart open, dashing around to get a hold of her surroundings as if she forgot she was in Simon’s bedroom. 

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracks, so she clears her throat. “I’ve got- um, practice. Apologies.”

Which is complete bullshit, Simon thinks. It’s 9 pm, and Simon doubts that they have practice this late. 

But Simon lets her walk away, because if there’s one thing she doesn’t know, it’s how to keep Baz from leaving.

**~*~**

Simon pulls her socks on, huffing when it catches on her toes. She knows she’s being unreasonable. If Baz doesn’t want her, so be it. 

But the unreasonable part of her wants to be whiny about it. Get on that girl’s nerves and piss her off until she gives in.

It’s right before a game, though. Her brain couldn’t have chosen a better time to focus on Baz. They’re all gathered in the change rooms, putting away their normal running shoes and switching them to cleats.

“ _Oh no_ ,” Niel whines, “Simon, you okay?”

“Alright,” she murmurs. 

“Don’t get emo on me right before a game,” Agatha says. 

Simon sticks her tongue out at her in response and flips her the bird. “I’ll do whatever I want.”

Agatha gives her a look and Simon lowers her head. “Sorry, sorry. I’m okay.”

The rest of their team heads out, including Niel, and soon it’s just Simon and Agatha. “What did I do this time?”

Agatha snorts and sits beside Simon on the bench, kicking her legs up and down. “Listen, Penelope told me-”

Simon groans and Agatha places a finger on her lips. “Let me finish. God, you’re so impatient.”

Simon raises a brow. “Alright, alright, I’m listening.”

“Penelope told me Baz hasn’t been playing well.”

“Okay..? What does that have to do with me?”

“The whole _prefecture_ knows you guys are all ‘gushy gushy’ for each other. It’s hilarious.” She shifts a bit; Simon can hear people outside begin to shuffle to the bleachers. “So it’s quite odd to feel the palpable sexual tension turn into more of a rabid hatred, you get me? So I take it that the practices didn’t go well.”

“No _shit_ , I’m surprised Penny didn’t tell you every detail.”

“She did. That’s the only reason everything I’m saying is so in depth.”

“Figures.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Just don’t, I don’t know, fuck her with your eyes while we’re on the field or something. Get your head in the game and out of the gutter.”

She pats Simon on the shoulders and leaves her to sputter on the floor. 

Simon shakes her head and dusts her shorts and jersey off, jumping up and down before following Agatha out to the field.

As soon as she exits the changing rooms, she can hear the booming sound of the crowd. Most likely all here for Watford North, considering their school is quite well known. It’s all just a reminder for how everything is supposed to go.

But she’ll make sure to do everything in her power to make it go _her_ way.

She joins her team on the other side of the field, and her eyes search for Baz at the other side. _She isn’t there_.

“Are you looking for Baz?” Niel asks, reaching down to touch her toes.

“No.”

“Yes. Look, she’s here now.” 

Simon’s eyes dart to the other side of the field, and when she notices Baz’s team isn’t there, her face flushes and she ducks her head down, ashamed. 

Niel barks out a laugh and reaches up for the sky, stretching out her arms. “See, you _are_ looking for her.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Look, she’s here.”

“Haha,” Simon monotones, “Not falling for that one.” Simon finds a place beside Niel and reaches for her toes to stretch out her legs.

“No really.” She points to something- _someone_ -at the other side of the field. “Short hair, undercut, weird pout thing going on?”

 _Baz_. 

Simon looks up and nearly keels over. It’s something thudding in her chest, the fluttery feeling in her heart that has her going insane anytime she spares a look at Baz and today is no exception. In fact, it seems to be even worse today, and Simon’s face heats up even more when she sees Baz raise a brow at her. _What an ass_.

The bright white of the stadium lights do no good for her complexion, but Simon thinks Baz still looks better than ever. Under the moonlight. 

The only thing that bothers her is the fact that she’s _yards_ away from her. 

The cheers from the bleachers get louder and louder; she can see Niel flinch and cover her ears while she tries to talk to Agatha. 

Simon spares one more look at Baz before moving back to her team. She evens out her breathing, pats down her hair and tightens her ponytail. 

_She’ll win._ She has to win. She’ll show Baz that the practices were _worth it_. That she’s worth it. 

_That they’re worth it_. 

**_BAZ_ **

It’d be easier to focus on stretching if she could get the image of Simon out of her head. 

The memory of her lips - unbelievably warm, unbearably soft - against her own has been playing on loop in her mind since last night. And if that wasn’t enough of a distraction, she’s busy loathing herself for pulling away in the first place. Even if she had her reasons. 

The first being that there was a game approaching, and she’d rather lose fairly than deal with a loss because she couldn’t stop thinking of kissing Simon. And the second being that Simon _wanting_ to kiss her just felt… wrong. Unfathomable. Something that absolutely could not happen, no matter what. 

She ran it over in her mind all last night. Ruled out the possibility that Simon’s only trying to get close to get her off her game - if that were the case, she wouldn’t be staring so much right now, and Bunce wouldn’t be reading off Wellbelove’s increasingly worried texts. 

“They’re stretching, how is she even texting you?” Baz asks through a huff. Penelope sees right through her attempts to hide her concern, though, and rolls her eyes. 

“Since you’re dying to know: Simon’s doing fine. She’s a bit flustered. Kinda looks like she wants to kick your teeth in, though.”

Now, Baz rolls her eyes. “Wellbelove said that? How dramatic.”

“No, she _does_. Look.”

Baz looks up, eyes instinctively landing on Simon. She’s wearing a complicated expression, all tightly drawn features glaring at Baz from across the field. It’s more of a challenge than an argument though. Still, she can’t help but compare it to the dazed way Simon had stared at her yesterday, face going soft and slack with fondness and admiration.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the ball sailing over, just nearly missing her head. 

“Get up!” Dev calls, already running after the ball. “Drills, let’s do it.”

Baz grumbles as she sits up properly, ignoring Penelope’s extended hand. She does lock their fingers together after she stands up, bringing her close to whisper in her ear. “We have to beat the hell out of them. Okay?”  
  
She looks surprised for half a second before her face clears into understanding. “Are you _nervous_?” 

Baz tries to huff a denial, but the pit in her stomach tells her that it’s pointless. And even then, Bunce can see right through her.

“We _are_ going to beat them. Like always,” she assures, and Baz swallows the nervous feeling down hard.

“Right. Yeah, of course.”

Dev nearly clips her head with the ball again, so Baz goes running after her, ignoring the laughing she hears from Simon’s team when Dev screams bloody murder. 

**~*~**

It starts off rough from the get go. Besides the fact that Simon’s gotten better, her whole _team_ is less delicate than they used to be. There was a clear fracture between players - better cooperation between their trio than with the whole group. But now, they’re all working well together, passing the ball between them with a speed Baz has never seen before. 

Simon gets close enough to goal that Baz steps in, attempting to cut off the swing of her leg by tilting forward, knocking her off balance. Simon dodges, pulling back at the last moment and bringing the ball between Baz’s legs to score. 

Baz is switched into goal after that, and she blocks every other shot. 

There’s only six minutes left in the game, and her team is struggling, but staying alive. The score is tied, unfortunately, at four each, and the desperation is making her breath come in desperate pants.

 _Come on, come on, come on,_ she thinks, widening her stance pointlessly in goal. It’s times like this, when she’s watching Penelope try her best to get the ball to their striker, that she wishes she played offense. It’d be so easy to steal it away, get it down into the goal, _win_. She settles for staring, hoping desperately that Simon’s team won’t regain the ball.

Two minutes later, Simon’s back in possession, passing it back and forth with Wellbelove. Their dreadful goalie kicks it halfway down the pitch, and Wellbelove nails it into an impossible corner that Simon dives into just in time to keep it in play. _That’s what Devan must have been talking about, huh._

Baz readies herself, heart pounding faster as the seconds dwindle down. Simon gets nearer, dodging Penelope’s desperate attempts to get it back on track. 

“Let’s _go,_ Bunce!” Baz screams from across the pitch. Penelope shouts back and firmly wedges herself between Simon and the ball. A minute left, and that move bought them enough time to throw the other team off center. _Come on_ , Baz thinks, ears buzzing. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, feet tingling and breath rushing out of her in heavy, ragged bursts. 

Someone yells Simon’s name, and she turns back over her shoulder, nodding fiercely. Baz makes out the movement of her mouth, catching the word _sorry_. And then she drags the ball back behind her, turns around to catch up with it, and shoulders past Penelope roughly. 

Baz doesn’t have to strain to hear the stream of expletives that she lets out from the floor. Another teammate dives at Simon, but she’s a whole different person, untouchable and streaking across the pitch like she’s burning up at the edges. A shooting star, hair flying behind her as she watches carefully to avoid defense. Dev comes as close as she can to get the ball away, but Simon twists and eludes her once again. 

_Shit_ . Baz glances at the time as soon as she clears the last line of defense. _Seventeen seconds_. 

For just a second, Simon stalls. No defense comes to steal it away, all too busy recovering from her quick footwork. Their eyes meet and her lips scrunch up, jaw clenching fiercely. With the lights behind her, illuminating in a golden outline, she looks like an angel. 

Baz watches as she switches the ball between her feet, tensing every muscle in her body as Simon drives her foot forward at a sharp angle. Baz dives, and watches, stunned into stillness, as Simon stops the ball’s momentum to punt it in the opposite direction.

The referee’s whistle blows, and Baz feels every sharp, fierce thing in her crumble as the scoreboard switches in Simon’s favor. 

_Game over, they lost_. 

When she tears her eyes away from the board and catches sight of the shock in Simon’s face, her disappointment turns into a fluttery sort of helpless joy. The feeling grows when she sees Simon running towards her, grin throwing her face into chaotic, happy disarray. Simon leaps and Baz catches her, going down inside the goal roughly and landing together. 

Her eyes are sparkling, grin so wide that she can barely keep them open; she laughs and _laughs_ , and Baz feels her chest fill up with hope. 

“We _won_ ,” she giggles, rocking joyfully atop Baz and throwing her head back with a yell, the sound bursting over the other triumphant sounds of her team. “Thank you,” she gasps, looking back down at Baz, “so much.”

“Can I kiss you?” Baz manages, and Simon stills for a second, before she presses forward, pressing their mouths together messily. It’s awful - she tastes like mud and salt, and her piercing is bound to get caught on Baz’s mouth. But it’s also warm and Baz can feel the shape of her smile imprinted on her mouth, and Simon can’t stop giggling. 

“Is this okay?” she asks when she pulls away. Baz can’t bear to look away from her when both their teammates are whistling and throwing out cheers, so she keeps her eyes fixed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she responds, and Simon grins and heaves herself up, extending a hand for Baz to grab.

“Me too.” 

As Simon leans in for another kiss, Baz watches Dev pull a twenty from her bag and hand it to an unbearably smug Penelope. And then their lips meet and Baz loses herself again. 

**Author's Note:**

> meri's [tumblr](https://eriimeri.tumblr.com/)!  
> dani's [tumblr](https://loveandwarandmagick.tumblr.com/)!  
> sam's [tumblr](https://heynotcoolman.tumblr.com/)!  
> playlist for [_'head over cleats'_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TZ76VaAiNNTG7YZDbJTz9?si=RR-7wQh5RhaOWjXeklbKFQ).  
> blm commission info [(1)](https://eriimeri.tumblr.com/post/620132663812079616/commissions-for-blm) [(2)](https://notcooltate.tumblr.com/post/620161221519376384/commissions-for-blm)


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